


first love

by reservedseat



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: BRIEF mentions of kidnapping and child neglect, Friendship, Gen, Gender Neutral MC - Freeform, food as a love language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:06:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23173642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reservedseat/pseuds/reservedseat
Summary: sometimes all you need is permission to feel.
Relationships: Han Jumin/Main Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	first love

**Author's Note:**

> wanted to make this inclusive for all so mc is never gendered and goes by they/them pronouns

When he left the library, it was already evening. Pale twilight was descending. The wind was coming up, a little chilly on the skin. The satisfying crunch of gravel from underneath his shoes resonates in the air as he trudged to the train station. Strange as it may sound, he quite likes gravel. How it crunches underfoot; calls attention to itself. Attention to something other than himself, his background, his status, his wealth. He likes how it slows you down, discourages speed and carelessness. Gives him a moment to breathe, to detangle all his threads. Sometimes he feels so claustrophobic in his own skin, he wishes he could strip it off him. 

What is _the_ Jumin Han, heir to the C&R company, doing using a commoner mode of transport, you may be wondering? It’s not that he doesn’t have his own personal chauffeur because he does. Several, in fact. But after learning that his father had brought home another woman, he had asked Driver Kim not to bother to collect him as apparently he would be studying late at the school’s library. Driver Kim, a father figure and quite possibly the only person (except for Jihyun, of course) who could read him like an open book, begrudgingly obliged, _“You’re a bad liar, Mister Han. Alright fine, just stay safe. And you better tell your father not to cut my pay!”_ his voice dripping with satoori. The hem of his coat flutters in the wind, it’s embarrassing how many times he’s accidentally called Driver Kim “Dad” but hearing him chuckle and ruffle his hair makes it worth it. He should ‘accidentally’ do it more often.

_Crunch._

The sound of gravel. 

_Crunch._

Only he’s not alone.

_Crunch, crunch, crunch._

He had heard it before but it was faint and now it was growing gradually louder. And closer. It doesn’t sound like footsteps. Wheels? It can’t be a car, there’s no sound of an engine. Nails dig themselves into his palms. _Stay calm,_ he tells himself, he’s been through multiple kidnapping attempts. He should be used to this. He slowly slides his hand into his pocket and feels around for his phone as he sees something come into his peripheral sight.

Maintaining his steady pace, he turns to look properly. It’s a person. A person riding a bicycle. He’d never seen them before, they were wearing a different school uniform than him. They turn their head to look at him for a few seconds then ride on by. 

False alarm.

/

He watches the rows of windows in the tall building across the street from the bus station, suspended, emitting a pretty blue light. The people moving behind those windows, the elevators going up and down, all of it, sparkling silently. He likes it here, being among commoners. People come and go but no one stops to stare. He closes his eyes and relitheys in the comfort of being ordinary, even if it is just for a few minutes.

The familiar sound of clicking and ticking. Loud. Quiet. Louder, and quieter. A bicycle? He opens his eyes and there it is. There they are. Riding around in circles in front of him. As if they were taunting him.

“Hey, how far are you going?” They ask, resting on one leg to stop the bicycle. He blinks. It had not occurred to him that he had never travelled on a train before. He hadn’t even thought to ask for directions from Driver Kim. All he had was money, and isn’t that all you really need in life?

“Want a lift home?” They smile wide. They seemed to be around the same age as him. Looks can be deceiving, however, and perhaps they knew who he was and this was all some elaborate ruse. Maybe they were being used as bait to lure him into getting kidnapped only to demand a high ransom. Jumin felt bad for being so prejudiced against someone he had never met but you can never be too careful. But even if they were to kidnap him, the police would be able to find him due to the GPS tracker installed onto his phone, right? He’s done this before and he can do it again.

Jumin can miss this train, another one will come.

/

“Could you kidnap someone?” An odd thing to ask someone when you’ve only just met them. 

“Huh?” Their laughter startled Jumin and he gripped harder onto their shoulders to regain his balance from where he was standing on the bike pegs. “Who?” An odd answer to an odd question.

“Me.” He felt their shoulders shake, the only indication that they were to erupt into laughter again. The corner of his lips curled upwards. He’d never heard anyone laugh like that, it was deemed improper. They threw their head back with a near howl of laughter, only to be drowned out by a truck’s horn. How unfortunate. A part of him had wanted to hear it again.

“Why?” They asked after they’d calmed down.

After careful consideration on how best to answer without giving away too much personal information, Jumin settled on, “I don’t want to go home.”

His new companion hummed as if they understood, “Why don’t you run away?”

“I…” He fought the sudden urge to fiddle with the cufflinks on his school shirt. Why doesn’t he run away? “I don’t know.” 

“So you just met a complete stranger…” They round a corner, the breeze beating itself gently across his face. “...and you’re trying to get them to kidnap you?” 

He shrugs, “I thought it’d be alright if there wasn’t any trouble.”

“Is your family rich?” To which Jumin instantly disagrees, this person clearly has no idea who he is and he’s not about to disclose the fact that he’s a billionaire’s son. Driver Kim’s words echo in the back of his mind. _You’re a bad liar._

“Hmm… We can split the ransom 50/50 then.” He should feel bad, it was wrong of him to have lied, but is it so wrong for someone to see him for who he really is, and not just his money?

“Fine. Let’s go up to the Lotte World Tower.”

“Why?”

“To call in the demands,” Jumin says matter-of- factly. “don’t you think doing it from a high place is best?” They throw their head back to meet his gaze and narrow their eyes at him, “You seem to know a lot about kidnapping.”

Jumin, very aware of his clammy hands, very aware of the heat creeping up his neck, and very very aware of the close proximity between them, simply replies, “I’m used to it.” 

They remain silent, the corners of their mouth quirking upwards briefly before returning to keep their eyes on the road. “Actually…” Jumin starts, “Let’s go to the river. Yes, I want to see the river.” In agreement, they pedalled faster. Far off in the pale sky, he watched the gloomy clouds and the orange of the sunset spreading across them in the sky. He felt warm. He slowly raises his arms, hands flailing against the wind as if he was desperately trying to grasp for something. Laughter bubbles inside of him––he’s soaring.

/

The grass tickles their necks and the backs of their knees, they lie there calling out anything they could make out in the dark clouds: “Look, a sphinx winking.”  
Or  
“My father when he has shaving cream smothered all over his chin.”  
Or  
“That’s my left shoe!”

“Hey,” they called from where they lay on the riverbank, their arms folded behind their head. “How old are you?” 

“30,000.” he replied, seemingly without hesitation.

“Yeah right.” They snorted, “Was that supposed to be funny?”

“I’m being serious.” He says quietly, propping up on his elbow to rest his chin on his hand. The kidnapper mirrors his actions. “I feel so old. I’ve probably been reborn countless times so if I count all the birthdays I’ve ever had, I’ll probably be around 30,000 years old.” He sighs, “I don’t know why I keep being reincarnated.”

They immediately sat up, “Are you an idiot? You seriously don’t know how to stop being reborn and go back home?” Jumin simply stared at them in confusion. 

“When you do not have a single shred of hate left in your heart. And…” They paused, “And when you love others without any hesitation whatsoever. Loving generously without regret is the reason we are born in this world.” 

An overwhelming feeling of admiration erupted in Jumin, “That’s how I can go back to my beautiful home among the stars.” They screamed together, the words breaking into laughter.

They gleamed, proud that he understood the reference. “Fuck that, I’m not going to some place among the stars. It’s boring as hell there.” They scoff.

“I think it would be nice to live among the stars,” Jumin contemplates, “except I think I’d miss the starlight.”

/

Concrete buildings rise from the ground to the sky, a tsunami of lifeless grey in every shade between black and white. Noise can be heard from the busy streets where Jumin is perched on the curb. Cold wind bites his cheeks and clears his mind. A cat jumps off a trash can, causing empty bottles to fall on the concrete, and rubs itself against Jumin’s leg. He gingerly reaches his hand out to stroke it, only for it to run away at the sound of Jumin’s new friend interrupting the noise from the streets that barely sleep

“Hey! Where’d you run off to?” They exclaim as they sit down beside him, unfolding a brown parcel in her hand. “I got us bungeoppang!”

They had brought Jumin to a restaurant and insisted on buying food for him, claiming that they were probably the best and most generous kidnapper he’d ever had (they were). The restaurant was more like a shack that had been melded into the walls, almost as if the city itself is alive and has swallowed it whole. The sign hangs with its scripted korean; there’s three windows, two for the smells of food to go out toward the sky and one for everyone to talk to the people on the street. 

“I was only outside.” He can’t help but stare at the snack. Pastry shaped like fish? Commoner food is so cute.

“Still! What kind of kidnapper am I if I can’t keep my eyes on you at all times? Here,” They offer him, “It’s really good.” He takes one and bites into it, the flavour of the red bean paste floods into his mouth. They eat in silence but Jumin finds that he doesn’t mind. It is not the silence that hangs heavy in the air after his father and another one of his lovers’ had finished screaming at each other. It is not the silence that fills the dining room during breakfast after his father leaves early work. This… This is different. Jumin enjoys the warmth of companionship of his new friend. He can feel a prickling sensation behind his eyes, tries to slow his breathing slightly, and force the tears to retreat back into his eyes. 

“You can cry,” he hears them say, their own food forgotten as they look to him in concern. “It’s okay.” 

“No,” he mumbles, “I- I don’t need to.” His voice wavers and he curses his own body for betraying him, feeling fresh tears fill his eyes. Jumin scrubs at his eyes and takes more bites of the pastry as if it would help to stop his body from shaking and the tears escaping. His cheek feels moist. God, when was the last time he cried? Mostly Jumin was walled up inside himself, and certainly a very long way from anyone else. His emotions are so raw and overwhelming. The feeling of being ahead of your time while still having to live in your time. The feeling of being okay with being alone but being so lonely all at the same time. There are times when Jumin is convinced that he is unfit for any human relationship. If you have never been loved, is it possible to love someone else? 

Instead of pestering him as Jumin expected, they move closer to wrap an arm around his shoulders and hold out the brown parcel, coaxing him to eat more. Jumin grabs the remaining pastries and scoffs them down, wiping away his tears with his arms. 

“I want very much not to be where I am.” He talks with his mouth full, all those years of etiquette classes suddenly gone down the drain. _I don’t want to be alone. I want someone to love me. I’m lonely._

“I’m lonely… I just… I’m so…” Jumin shoves the entire thing into his mouth to stop his incoherent babbles. His eyes were brimming with tears, blurring most of his vision. He cries with the force of a person vomiting. It’s embarrassing, he’s so ashamed to be behaving like this, he can hear the condescending whispers of the passers-by. Yet still, they pull him in closer, resting her head on his shoulder, and continue to hold him.

It is here that Jumin believes he can start living again.

/

This time, Jumin was the one pedalling the bike since his friend had already done so countless times for him and they wanted some repayment of the good deeds they had done. They urge him to ride faster and he complies, the cold wind holding the both of them in a tight embrace. Time moves fast, slipping through his fingers. But it’s okay. The world can go on turning, but Jumin is just fine right where he is. 

“Well,” He stops the bike once they reach the bridge and hops off, “This is it.” He says, holding out his hand.

“How do you feel now?” They ask instead. Jumin draws back his hand, a smile spreading across his cheeks, his cheekbones becoming more prominent. 

“My real age, sixteen.” He bows, “Thank you.” 

Their eyes twinkled, “Take care.” 

He watches them ride off and wave without looking back.

Jumin walks back home. It is romantic somehow. He loves these streets, loves the turns he knows so well. When he’s not resenting the stuck-ness of his own life, he has an enormous capacity to love it.

**Author's Note:**

> bungeoppang is the pastry that zen and seven talk about in some of the chats!
> 
> [this](https://youtu.be/8InjhThHArI) is the song jumin and mc sing on the riverbank 
> 
> i wanted to write about jumin being vulnerable and learning to love. i hope i did some justice


End file.
